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There
once
was
a
guy
named
Kyle,
Who
did
things
with
his
very
own
style,
It
didn't
matter
what
you'd
say,
He'd
do
it
his
own
way,
And
it'd
pob'ly
end
up
making
you
smile.
I
asked
him
if
I
could
put
him
in
a
story,
He
said
only
if
it
was
scary
and
gory,
If
I
made
him
look
wussy,
He'd
make
me
eat
pussy,
Then
he'd
get
me
drunk
and
dress
me
all
whory.
I
promised
to
make
him
look
tough,
Not
mean,
but
manly
and
rough,
He
said
that'd
be
okay,
As
long
as
he
was
still
gay,
And
he
didn't
look
like
a
wimpy
powder-puff.
So
on
a
story
I
started
to
work,
I
made
him
tough,
but
not
like
a
jerk,
But
as
the
story
came
in,
Kyle
came
to
his
own
end,
Leaving
me
alone
and
terribly
hurt.
Now
the
world
is
so
cold,
My
heart
has
turned
to
stone,
The
story
remains
undone,
The
words
just
no
longer
come,
And
an
eagle
soars
home
alone.
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